January 26th.
Leicester, King Power Stadium.
The match hadn’t even started, but the stands were already packed to the last row.
Leicester City fans in blue shirts belted out the club anthem at full volume, waving their Foxes scarves, whipping the pre-match atmosphere into a proper frenzy.
Simon Hale and his wife Julia were inside the VIP section for the first time.
The songs rolling off every stand had both of them buzzing hard.
It wasn’t their first time watching a match here.
But this time was different.
Completely different.
Their precious son was about to make his first professional start in this very stadium.
Yesterday, the moment Leo heard his name in the starting eleven, he called home and shared the news with his parents.
Then he asked the club staff for two tickets.
His first career start.
A milestone like that demanded having the people he loved in this world there to witness it.
The deafening noise from the stands carried straight into the away dressing room.
Chelsea’s players were getting changed, looking utterly at ease.
Somebody was cutting loose with a ridiculous dance move that had his teammates roaring.
A few of them joined in, mimicking him.
The last time Leicester and Chelsea had faced off was two years ago.
Same competition, the FA Cup.
Chelsea had battered them 5-2 that day.
And in five encounters across history, Chelsea had won all five.
Maybe that was why, with that kind of psychological edge and a clean record, the Chelsea players felt so relaxed.
Because of the full rotation, only Hazard and Lampard were genuine first-team regulars in the starting eleven.
Every other spot, goalkeeper included, went to subs who barely saw minutes in the league or Champions League.
It was worth noting that Nemanja Matic, the defensive midfielder just signed from Benfica in the winter window for twenty-one million pounds, was getting his first start.
As a brand new arrival, Matic sat in the corner, quietly changing his boots, keeping well out of the “dance party.” The truth was, this tall, silent defensive midfielder had been bought by Chelsea way back in 2009 for one and a half million pounds.
But the competition was brutal, and his ability wasn’t quite there.
After wasting a year in the reserves, Matic was shipped out on loan to Vitesse in the Eredivisie.
Then in 2011, with zero minutes for Chelsea, he was tacked onto the deal for David Luiz as a makeweight and sent to Benfica.
Benfica, the Portuguese superclub, was famous as one of the great launch pads for South American wonderkids heading to Europe’s top five leagues.
A notorious “talent factory.” Their model was simple: develop raw gems with serious potential, then sell them to the big five-league sides for massive profit once they’d leveled up.
Di Maria.
David Luiz.
Coentrao.
Every one of them a household name at the highest level.
When Matic landed in the Primeira Liga, he took to it like a fish to water.
He locked down a starting role as the team’s defensive midfielder almost immediately.
The season before last, he helped Benfica finish runners-up in all three competitions: the Primeira Liga, the Taça de Portugal, and the Europa League.
For his performances across the entire campaign, he was named Primeira Liga Player of the Season.
That kind of showing caught the eye of Mourinho, back at Chelsea for his second stint, who made the call to bring him back.
Matic was Mourinho’s handpicked winter signing, the first piece of a new tactical framework.
And this FA Cup tie against Leicester City was his first start since returning.
He had to deliver.
Had to repay Mourinho’s trust.
Had to fight his way into a brutally competitive Chelsea midfield and carve out a place for himself.
Just as those thoughts were turning over, manager Mourinho strode into the dressing room.
“Cut the music!
Sit down!” The players scrambled back to their spots.
Mourinho swept his gaze around the room, waited until every pair of eyes was on him, then spoke.
“Listen.
Everything that needs saying, the tactics to set up, I went through yesterday in the tactical room.
I’ll only repeat this once: no matter who we face, as a team, we have to be hard.
Full of fight.” After that brief blast, Mourinho’s eyes found Matic, still silent in the corner.
He lowered his voice.
“Nemanja.
Your job is simple.
Mark that number twenty-three out of the game.” Matic’s expression tightened.
He nodded hard.
“Understood, boss.” …
At the same time, inside the home dressing room.
The vibe was steadier than across the way.
The starters, led by Leo, were focused on their own routines.
Getting a rare start, against a Premier League giant like Chelsea no less, it was impossible not to feel the nerves and the buzz.
Even the manager telling them, “No pressure, just go out there and play,” couldn’t fully settle the jitters.
For bench players, this was one of the few chances they got to show anything.
Still, both Pearson and the squad understood the truth: the main purpose of this match was getting the reserves minutes and letting the regulars rest.
Winning or losing genuinely didn’t matter.
After a few brief words, Pearson headed out for the pre-match press conference.
The moment he stepped through the door, assistant manager Walsh fell in beside him and asked, “Nigel, the press officer asked me earlier whether we should bring Leo along to the press conference.
What do you think?” Pearson’s brow furrowed.
Ever since Leo burst onto the scene in the FA Cup, his performances had been stunning.
It made Pearson incredibly happy and proud.
But those same performances had drawn the media in like a pack of hyenas.
In football, Pearson had seen it too many times.
A young player breaks through, gets some decent results, and the press overhypes him to the moon.
Then the kid loses himself.
Ends up a cautionary tale.
He wasn’t about to let Leo walk that road.
So Pearson shook his head and shot down a suggestion that could have drawn more attention and traffic to the club.
“He’s still young.
The last thing I need is media attention and their garbage hype going to his head.” 30+ chapters are available now and daily updates!